


Coriander Flowers

by Heavydirtys0ul, things-we-used-tc-share (Heavydirtys0ul)



Series: Wasteland, Baby! [37]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: ALSO THIS IS THE SMUT EDITION, BASICALLY ALL THE SMUT I COULDNT FIT INTO THE MAIN SERIES IS HERE, Fae!Deceit, Fae!Roman, M/M, Siren!Logan, Witch!Emile, Witch!Remy, read the rest of the series first, witch!Virgil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24061750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavydirtys0ul/pseuds/Heavydirtys0ul, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavydirtys0ul/pseuds/things-we-used-tc-share
Summary: All the intimate moments, in the sexual sense, of the characters that I couldn't fit into the main story. These run in chronological order also.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Deceit Sanders/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Deceit Sanders/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders
Series: Wasteland, Baby! [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1428046
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	1. Bloom

The winter air is crisp, cool, but the everlasting lukewarmth of Spring overrides it. Virgil had grown accustomed, over the years, to realising the forest has it’s own climates depending on the territory you find yourself in. He’s spent most of his life in Spring, under the rule of what most Witches would call a benevolent God, and Virgil calls, he supposes, his boyfriend. He remembers the looks on people’s faces the moment Roman started showing interest, most thinking he’s insane to deny a Faery prince, but those who knew him better, like his mother, would chuckle and utter “Yes, that’s Virgil,”

So whilst the air maybe cold for the rest of the world, it isn’t here. Roman takes Virgil’s hand and they walk to their clearing, which seems warmer than anywhere else in the forest, although the Witch cannot tell if this is because his partner’s hands are so warm. The prince bows to Virgil, and the taller laughs softly and teases him, “You don’t need to do that Roman, I know we’re equal,”

“Sometimes it is I that needs the reminder, my love,” Virgil doesn’t argue as they both sit in the grass, Roman leans his head against Virgil’s shoulder, making daisy chains as they enjoy each other’s company quietly.

Then, the prince moves to kneel up in Virgil’s lap, placing the daisy crown on the other’s head with a small giggle, his wings fluttering with an innocent joy as he watches the bemused expression on the younger man’s face. The chain is rearranged around Virgil’s horns. “Now you’re a prince too,” Roman beams, leaning down to kiss the Witch softly, swallowing any protests he may have.

Virgil’s hands rest on Roman’s thighs, acknowledging the way the other shifts closer, their lips moving slowly against one another’s, savouring every languid brush of their tongues. Virgil shivers a little, and Roman’s hands fall to the other’s neck. They kiss for so long it feels like hours, slow and calm and exploring, it is only minutes. Virgil’s arms wrap around the other’s waist, pulling him closer with a desire to feel the methodical beat of Roman’s heart close to his own chest.

And Roman yields to him like flower to the sun, pressing forward, wanting more and more, wanting Virgil as close as he could have him. His breath runs out for a moment, and he gasps against the other’s lips, barely realising how intensely he was craving the air from Virgil’s lungs. And anything else he’ll give him. The Witch chuckles, his fingertips running lightly over the coriander flowers that are growing on Roman’s skin. His cheeks are flushed though, and the tremble of his fingertips tells Roman he is anxious.

“Breathe,” Roman whispers, pressing their lips together briefly before he leans his forehead against Virgil’s “It’s okay,” Virgil lies back, dragging Roman with him, barely noticing how the soft grass feels as his hands fall back to Roman’s hips, his sharp nails digging in involuntarily. The Faery feels a sharp shock of electricity, and he chuckles, although the other goes to apologise, to find those worry’s silenced at the elder’s lips. Roman rocks his hips down and Virgil’s eyes close, jerking into the contact. “Is this your first?” The prince asked, leaning over the taller, the palms of his hands pressed to the dirt and the grass on either side of his lover’s head. Virgil does not feel caged.

“Yes,” He replies truthfully, the whisper of confidence caught on the breeze “You’re going to have to show me the ropes,” His nervous smile is rewarded with a kiss and such light laughter that the sunlight itself would envy the brightness of a sound that beautiful. It’s all he really manages to note before Roman’s lips are leaving his own, trailing down his neck. The Witch arches his head back, not wishing to accidentally catch the prince with his horns, although he quite forgets restraint when Roman’s teeth sink down and lightning crackles in his eyes.

He goes to apologise again, but Roman seems to barely have noticed as his hands push Virgil’s shirt up, sealing his lips over his chest, sucking and marking and _claiming_. Virgil shakes then, his eyes screwing shut as gentle fingers press against parts of his body that another person has never touched; that’s to say, all of it. Roman’s hands squeeze his thighs, then they’re undoing his pants and Virgil can’t remember how to _breathe_.

The Faery takes note and leans back up, pressing soft, soothing kisses to his lover’s lips “Are you okay?” he asks, worried, Virgil makes a noise that sounds like a growl and a ‘yes’ at once as he kisses Roman firmly. The prince’s hand presses into the other’s pants, squeezing Virgil’s half-hard cock just to feel it twitch in his hands. Virgil is so warm, his breath panting out against his lover’s lips as they exchange kisses of various paces, the Witch pulling away only to lean up and watch his own hips shift into Roman’s fist.

It isn’t awfully romantic; he supposes enough of their lives are like that without the sex needing to be too. He leans up, taking Roman with him as his hands slide up the other’s thighs, pushing his skirt up so that he can repay the favour.

Virgil’s eyes crackle with electricity, so does his hands. Roman, with a high pain tolerance and perhaps far more of an interest in such a feeling, writhes at the slight buzz of static, his grip on Virgil tightening as his own hips buck. The air feels claustrophobic, and it takes the Faery to realise that that is Virgil, his emotions running wild in a way he’d never had to experience before as the clouds in the sky grow dark. Lightning flashes, but Virgil barely flinches, and Roman only grins through the heavy kisses as his free hand grips Virgil’s shoulder.

He knows when the Witch gets close because the rain starts to fall, Virgil’s head tilting back to collect the droplets as his hips buck and he spills over Roman’s hand, a sound that echoes like the thunder escaping his lips. His eyes flash a darker colour, and the tempest reaches its peak, the downpour of rain feeling like joy. **_“Shit,”_** Virgil mutters, voice breaking into something else, as he takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself.

Roman is so in awe he forgot about his own lust for a second.

He kisses the other firmly, and this seems to ease him greatly as he focuses on Roman.

“Going to need t-to get a handle on that one, little Witch,” He smirks, resting his forehead against Virgil’s, the other man snorts back laughter in response and the smile on his face makes Roman feel somewhat special. Virgil moves faster, his focus becoming concentrated, leaning back just to watch the way Roman pants and gasps, the sunlight breaking through the dissipating clouds and bathing the other’s skin in the light that he creates. He watches as the prince’s eyebrows furrow, lips parting as a hoarse whimper escapes him, followed by a noise that would put angel’s bells to shame.

Virgil does not stop his movements, even though he is surprised when the flowers break through, Roman’s eyes flying open as flowers bloom on his skin and around them, pushing through the ground as if they heard a call so beautiful they couldn’t resist but seek it out. Virgil exhales heavily in awe, milking Roman through his orgasm until the other stills him with a hand on his wrist. Virgil stares around them at the hundreds of flowers and greener grass, shaking his head in wonder “You never cease to amaze me,” He utters, leaning up to kiss Roman with the gentleness of a butterfly wing.

“Rich coming from the man who made the clouds sing,”

“You’re insufferable,” The Witch deadpans with a shake of his head, but he is smiling. There’s dirt and rainwater and flowers clinging to him every which way, and he does feel somewhat self-conscious being so exposed in the open air, but Roman looks like he’d done this a million times (He is likely to have done this a million times).


	2. Autumn Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy and Damian's first escapade together

Remy barely manages out a groan before his back is being slammed back against a tree, his head bouncing off the bark just slightly. “You faeries and your outdoors,” he mutters breathlessly as his jacket is being shoved off his shoulders. 

“You witches and your indoors.” Damian chuckles, grabbing his hand and tugging him along the pathway. They’re both a little giddy, despite the fact Damian has seen centuries come and go; if there’s one thing immortals can have in common with humans it’s the ability to let their hormones run wild. Remy takes a deep breath in as he’s tugged through the space of the faery realm and straight into Dee’s home. Unlike Roman, he doesn’t fair well with riches and for the most part, the autumn prince's private home is but a cottage. Remy’s jacket falls to the floor as the autumn prince grips the back of his thighs and lifts him up, placing him on the table. “Are you sure?” he asks, again, even though Remy has said yes so many times. 

“If you don’t fuck me, Dee, I swear to G- oh, fuck,” he groans as the other man’s hand slides between his legs and squeezes. The witch rocks his hips up desperately as their lips join once more, heated, hard, _far_ too fast. Damian tugs his shirt up off of his body whilst Remy squirms out of his pants, the prince picks the mostly naked witch up again, dropping him down on the bed and crawling between his legs whilst the other man shifts back against the pillows. 

It dawns on Remy, then, that he’s about to fuck a prince, an actual honest-to-fuck _prince_. 

It should make him nervous, but honestly, it just makes his cock twitch. His shirt and underwear end up tossed on the floor whilst Dee reaches into the bedside table. Remy spreads his legs without a second of hesitance, his head falling back against the pillows whilst his hand wraps around his own cock, tugging lightly at the heated flesh as he feels a slick finger push into him. Just like that, it’s like his whole body unwinds, bringing his knees up to his chest, eyes fluttering shut with a long exhale of relief. 

Damian leans over his body, their lips meeting again, one hand gripping the back of Remy’s thigh so firmly he swears his whole body trembles, whimpering into the prince’s mouth with lewd intent. “Fuck me, please,” Remy demands. 

“I’ve barely…”

_“Please,”_ Remy whimpers. 

“I don’t want to break you,” Damian mutters, his breath hot against the witch’s lips as he adds another finger. “Patience, little witch,” he presses his fingers deep into the other, twisting and changing his angle, Remy makes a loud, choked sound. Damn these immortals, having centuries to perfect a technique has to be cheating. “As much as I’d love to just fill you up, I think I’d rather return you to your lover in one piece,” there’s this teasing, chastising note to his tone that makes Remy feel...small, incapable of making his own decisions. 

Knowing his track record, he can at the very least, not make _good_ ones. 

But of course, that just turns him into a brat, hissing lightly in displeasure as one hand digs into the back of his partner’s neck, nails sharp like claws. Damian _growls._ It’s good to know that he isn’t the only _animal_ here at least. He loves Emile, but the man is too gentle, too soft on him, if the fire in the autumn prince’s eyes is anything to run off of, Remy is not leaving here without a few bruises of the good kind. 

The fingers slide out of him, leaving him to make a soft noise of displeasure, watching the prince finish undressing, his clothes remaining strewn on the floor as he reaches for the bottle of lubricant once more. Remy sucks all the air into his lungs that he can muster, his hands coming up to the back of the other man’s neck, his fingers running through the ruffled blonde hair, the twists of ever decaying leaves. He smells like petrichor, and eternal rainfall in the sunlight’s warmth, and...and something nice, earthy, sweet. Remy buries his face in Damian’s neck as the faery lines up and pushes into him in a quick, fast movement, the noises Remy makes muffled to his skin but sounding breathless. Feeling breathless too. 

The witch feels his own nails dig into the other man’s neck, he’s sure he’s breaking the skin but the other man pays no mind, drawing his hips out and pushing in again, and again and...Remy makes a noise that sounds awfully cat-like, completely dazed as their bodies push together, feeling Damian’s muscles ripple under his touch. 

They must have been at it minutes, or hours, he doesn’t really know it seems like it happens so fast and also stretches on forever. He loses track of time in his gasped, broken moans, letting the prince sink his teeth quite literally into his skin, bruising him, claiming him almost. It has him writhing underneath the other’s body, jerking, arching, begging for _moremoremore_.

Then finally a hand wraps around his cock and Damian pulls back, his eyes dark and full of heat as they watch him so keenly. A voyeur then, that makes sense, autumn faeries prefer to watch almost everything. Remy’s whole body jerks from the movements of being fucked into as he’s touched, his hands fall down to the bed, his nails suddenly much longer as they grip the sheets and then, when he jerks with the force of his orgasm, tears straight through them. But he is far too wrapped up in his pleasure as come leaks over his stomach and chest so forcefully one would think Dee had reached into him and pulled the orgasm out of him. 

Damian fucks him through it, letting him hiss from the overstimulation, Remy’s cock twitching weakly as he jolts and whimpers until the other man finally presses into him one last time with a brutal _growl_ of Remy’s name. 

They’re both bleeding, they realise shortly after. The upper part of Damian’s back has already healing scratches, but there’s still specks of blood from where Remy’s claws had torn up his skin. Remy’s shoulder has such a sizeable bite mark on it that for a moment he can’t actually feel it. “Fuck,” the witch whispers, sinking into the bed with a breathless laugh, he winces as he stretches out his hands, nails now their usual sharpness, but not quite claws. “Shit, sorry.” 

Damian snorts a little. "That's quite alright, kitten," he mutters, lying a little on top of the other (Remy's sure his whole heart stammered at being called _kitten),_ his wings rest comfortably, and Remy’s hand comes up to brush over them; they seem much more delicate than Emile’s wings, that always look so very heavy. These are more like...satin almost, or the skeletons of leaves. 

The prince shivers a little at the touch, leaning up to sit up, he runs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath in. Remy smiles at him with some warmth, not lovingly, but kindly, in a way that said ‘we should do this again sometime.’ 

He would really like to do this again sometime. 

He doesn’t heal the bite mark either; when Emile sees it, he rolls his eyes and tuts, telling him he’s like a wild animal, despite Remy’s protests he cleans it because kinky is one thing, but infection is another. Besides, he’s going to get plenty more of those, more likely than not.


End file.
